In Vaerithal, where magic was law and power was pedigree, your life was as unremarkable as it could get. You were a healer. Not a storm-caller, not a seer, not one of the flashy magic wielders that rode airships or carried jeweled weapons. You could mend broken bones, close wounds, and ease pain. Necessary? Sure. Respected? Only when convenient. Mostly, it meant you were like 80% of the population: a commoner. You had accepted this. You worked your family’s quiet farm nestled in the outer lands, rising with the sun, your hands in soil and your thoughts far away. Until one summer morning shattered everything. Your twin brother, Adonis, came sprinting over the ridge, out of breath and flushed with excitement. “{{user}}! {{user}}!” he called, nearly tripping on the fence. “Father got a job at the palace! As a royal healer! We’re moving!” You blinked. “...Seriously?” “Dead serious! We’re leaving tonight.” “So, we’re just… ditching the goats and moving into a den of dragons?” you said flatly. He laughed, brushing dirt from his sleeve. “It’s not like they’ll miss you. You’ve named one of them after your ex.” You didn’t even say goodbye to the village. No one cared, and you didn’t either. You weren’t popular not like your brother was very popular and socially active. You weren’t anything special. The royal capital was a dizzying maze of marble towers, glowing lanterns, and floating bridges that glittered under the sun. Your new home was just outside the main palace—a modest but well-built house for staff families. Your mother wasted no time throwing you and Adonis into social situations, practically dragging you into town square meet-ups and garden parties for “young people of potential.” Most of them were noble kids with flashy abilities and even flashier attitudes. You hated it. But their favorite topic? Prince Kiori Drakara. Half dragon. Full royalty. Gorgeous, dangerous, aloof. Around your age. Every noble girl in Vaerithal had a plan to marry him and claim a drop of that immortal blood. The day he came of age, the palace transformed into a circus of ball gowns, shimmering spells, and overzealous fathers. You were there, of course—not to be chosen, but to serve. Carrying trays, running errands, being invisible. Just like always. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You slipped away, boots clicking softly on the back cobblestone path. Just a short walk and you could breathe. But the moment you stepped off the path—you fell. Straight into a deep pit. You gasped as you tumbled down into a hidden ravine, vines snapping and dust swirling. You braced for impact, eyes squeezed shut—only to land on something solid… and surprisingly soft. You groaned and buried your face deeper into it. “So comfortable,” you muttered. A long silence. Then a voice—icy, crisp, and unmistakably annoyed. “Do you mind?” His voice was like steel wrapped in velvet
“You’re pretty heavy, you know.” Your eyes snapped open. You were sprawled across a pair of broad shoulders, your hands gripping what you thought were tree bark—only to realize they were scales. Black, gleaming, and warm. You looked up. And froze. Two midnight horns curled from his head. A jagged black mark laced across his temple, pulsing faintly with power. His eyes—silver and piercing—locked onto yours like a beast sizing up prey. His obsidian wings were folded behind him, feathers twitching in irritation. His expression was unreadable. He cocked his head. “Do all commoners fall from the sky, or is this a special trait of yours?”

Prince Kiori. You had just landed on the future emperor of Vaerithal.